I knocked over another glass of water today
wait
today it was only a bit of water and lots of ice
If I had a nickel for every glass I had knocked over lately
I could refinish my bathroom floor with nickels
I could never trust myself with a glass of juice
Hoping those sticky messes are behind me
Especially grape juice
I won’t even allow that in the house
It stains everything
Rose-colored glasses
the rough ahead seems rosy
details blurred ignored
dreams blossom with optimism—
truth in blissful ignorance.
Ethnicity lenses—
now that's a great idea
AI scans your race
then changes faces you see
into this ethnicity
All is rosy hue
all painted with the same brush
from the honey pot—
with judgment blurred, truth concealed
all differences bled away
Today the gratefulness I’m feeling
actually comes in two parts…
I’m grateful for the glasses I’ve worn since I was a child
and for being born with a hopeful heart…
Both of these work together in tandem…
helping me to see…
the multitude of miracles
stretched out in front of me
There's this guy, he's tall, wears glasses, brunette, thin,
He's so sweet, always nice and respectful.
The way he crinkles his nose and looks down with a smile,
She could just watch him for a little while.
He blushes ever so slightly when he speaks to her,
As if he's nervous or maybe a little giddy.
She tries to keep her cool, act like she's not phased,
But inside her heart is racing, she's dazed.
His laughter is a symphony, a song in her ears,
Washing away all of her worries and fears.
She loves the way his glasses slide down his nose,
And the way his polite, respectful demeanor shows.
And when he talks, she feels like the only person in the room,
The rest of the world fades into a hazy blur.
She gets lost in his eyes, a beautiful sight,
And the way his gentle, innocent smile shines so bright.
When he finishes, she feels a little weak,
Just savoring the gentle, respectful way he speaks.
another glass poured—
questions ripple in the glass
each sip slow savored
swirled to reveal the secrets
tart on the tip of the tongue
your hand grasps at mine
arms entwine beneath the cloth—
a feast set for two
titillation passion served
pleasure decanted on course
hollow goblets clink,
laughter's dessert shops on lips
that join for quick kiss—
yet the night seeps through fingers
like the wine we cannot keep
A rabbit's life, tragically upended
because of the company he befriended -
where, once, happiness had brimmed,
he grew old, and his eyesight dimmed.
His brain slowed down like molasses.
'Twas then I saw him wearing glasses.
So, pitifully, he did implore,
but the carrot said, "don't darken my door".
In the end, he took the dead man's walk,
led by a vitamin A-poor celery stalk.
ROSE-COLORED GLASSES
“When you think about a show that you used to watch as a kid or as a teenager, you look at it through sort of rose-colored glasses…”Jordana Brewster
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In memory’s soft glow,
the TV screen flickers alive,
time stretches like taffy,
the theme song lingers, a melody
transporting me through the portal of childhood.
The laughter of a cartoon,
the adventure of a western,
the wisdom of a sitcom,
a sprinkle of magic dust,
and suddenly, the mundane was extraordinary.
In the sepia tones of nostalgia,
I find a bittersweet truth:
the rose-colored glasses
tint the past with warmth,
softening the edges of reality.
those moments, though fleeting,
are the roots of who I am,
the laughter still lingers,
and the magic?
It lives on, like a rerun.
OH DEAR! I'VE LOST ME SPECS!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With a twitch of her tail and a frown,
Suzy scoured the roots and the ground.
“Have you seen my frames?
They’re not just for squirrel games!
Without them, I’m quite upside down!”
With acorns and nuts all around,
She’d trip over roots on the ground.
“Oh dear!” she would say,
“Where’d my glasses stray?
I swear they were here, safe and sound!”
Then a wise old owl hooted near,
“Your specs are right here, my dear!
On your nose, they sit,
You silly little twit,
Just look in the mirror, you’ll cheer!”
Nature is calling,
your hips swaying.
A light snowfall takes
place in a winter
breeze.
The footprints of a doe
and her fawn grace the
land in fragments.
Broken bits of
grass poke out
from where they
were last seen, in
brown, sticky
patches.
A moose,
a rabbit,
a raccoon—
resting, rejuvenating,
saving their strength.
Birds chirp,
wolves howl.
I close my eyes
and know I’ve
made it.
Did you make it
to Italy, sparrow?
For I am yet to
make it there.
I wish
you well.
Don't go shopping for prescription glasses
when you're mad at your boss.
You'll end up coming home with
don't f*ck with me glasses
that you'll regret!
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
How long does it take to break broken glass until it’s broken beyond repair?
How long does it take for avoidant eyes to finally learn to stare?
Will it take long enough for glass to pierce my shattered, battered heart,
Or eyes that will never look that way from the very start?
Does it take a fool or a man to learn the terms of his death from life,
Does it take a corpse or a coward to learn he was never alive?*
Will there be enough time to figure out the unfigurable parts of my soul,
Or will there be enough pieces to piece it back together whole?
The eyes that see cannot figure out what remains to be seen,
If it’s hidden from the world through rose-tinted dreams.
The heart that knows that it cannot last a chance cannot help but hope like a foolish man,
Hoping that one day, there will be enough broken parts to finally understand.
I misplaced my pink glasses, I had put them on a shelf.
Had the fey come along and taken them – a faerie or an elf?
I looked all over, getting frustrated up to a ten or an eleven.
My husband said, “look up, as if you are looking to heaven.”
I looked up and up and up and up and there my glasses were.
Perched on a happy ostrich, we had named Mr. McMure.
Mr. MuMure looked great in them, and was dancing a jig.
I gave them to him right away, and a red pair to our pig.
glasses
On my desk, the driving glasses, a 15-year-old is in a right
mood for it has been a struggle
for the glasses to be
accepted again after I bought a new pair that cost me a fortune
The state of the art frame,
yet useless, but I will not buy new ones.
My old glasses
purchased in a small shop that had no pretensions of being unique as
master of Spectacles,
alas, you have to tell people you are wonderful and apex and that
cannot be surpassed or not, people avoid you and go for the
liers and cheats in suits.
I fell for ads and bought the overpriced pair that could not
difference between red and green
What relief it was to rummage through my office drawers to
find my old glasses.
is not what I wanted to say; what I meant was by looking
at the lenses if they
could tell me a story and remember something I had
overlooked a thing on
my mind lost it in the life of April
The calamity of the world,
The cries of hunger ring so loud,
The wars slaughtering so many—
My rose-coloured glasses I wear.
Wildfires keep burning so brightly,
Lives destroyed all in one big sweep.
Families weeping and searching—
My rose-coloured glasses I wear.
The greed of money knows no end,
Men with egos at the table,
Denouncing the name of the Lord—
My rose-coloured glasses I wear.
Hate has more power than love now,
An eye for an eye, so deadly.
Living hell on earth, so I grab
My rose-coloured glasses I wear.
I'm seeing double, the room spins,
I can't remember where I've been,
I drown my sorrows in this glass,
And hope this feeling, it won't last.
My heart is heavy, my mind is numb,
The whiskey burns, but it's not enough,
To dull the pain that's deep inside,
Or erase the memories I try to hide.
The music plays, the people dance,
But I'm stuck in this lonely trance,
Lost in thoughts I can't escape,
Wondering how much more I can take.
I take another sip, and then another,
The whiskey glasses, they keep me covered,
But the truth is, they won't fix a thing,
Or take away the pain that stings.
So I'll put down this glass, and face my fears,
Embrace the hurt, the pain, the tears,
I'll find my way through this dark abyss,
And leave behind the whiskey glasses, I'll never miss.
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